Only My Nephew
by ShireDweller
Summary: PreLOTR – During the annual Lithedays Fair in Buckland, Bilbo comes to realize his young cousin is more to him than a student. Nonslash.
1. The Ferrymaster

Disclaimer: The Tolkien Estate owns the Shire and everything in it (sigh.) I've just dropped by for the Fair.

Brandy Hall, Buckland, June 30-July 1, 1382 SR

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Chapter 1: The Ferrymaster 

_In which a famous character crosses the Brandywine bearing many packages._

"Might I lend a hand to yer there, Mr. Baggins?" 

"Ah, there you are, Ferdibrand. Yes, but first put out that pipe, if you please. There you go and thank you very much indeed," panted Bilbo Baggins. "I've more around my middle than these crates allow. But, that is the last one, thank goodness." 

Wiping his brow, Bilbo turned to his traveling companion, who had been holding the pony. "All right, Tom, off you go. I won't need the cart further. Give Farmer Maggot my thanks for the loan of it, and tell him--" he called after the departing hobbit "-that I'll be sure to send along that Southern Star he asked for." 

"Don't yer want the cart on the other side?" the ferrymaster asked curiously as Bilbo clambered onto the ferry and plunked himself down on one of the crates with a sigh of relief. Ferdibrand cast off the ropes from the bollards and started to pole the ferry across the slow-flowing Brandywine towards Buck Hill and Brandy Hall on the eastern shore. 

"No, no. Saradoc--Master Brandybuck's son, you know--he's expecting me. He'll bring a cart or someone to help. Though why Gandalf sent them to Farmer Maggot instead of Brandy Hall direct is beyond me. Inscrutable old wizard. I suppose he had his reasons, whatever they might be. I shall just have to ask him when I see him next." Bilbo propped his back against one of the taller crates, braced his dusty hobbit feet on another, leaned back and gazed at the clouds. 

"So all these crates come from that Mr. Gandalf, do they?" 

"Hmm? Well, most of them at any rate, yes," said Bilbo. 

"What's in 'em, if yer don't mind my askin'?" 

"Fireworks, Ferdibrand! Fireworks the like of which the Shire hasn't seen since I was a boy! They're for young Master Meriadoc's first Midyear's Day celebration. Requested specially by Old Rory himself...and he ought to be properly grateful for them," Bilbo muttered in an undertone. He and the current Master of Brandy Hall didn't always see eye-to-eye. "Those smaller ones there have a few other things: some Old Winyard (not for Merry of course), some toys made by the dwarves, a few maps and books and such." 

"Books?" said the ferrymaster as though it were a foreign word. He chewed the stem of his pipe as he poled. "Now what do folks at Brandy Hall need books for? No scholars there, I reckon, not with Master Rorimac's ideas 'bout book-learnin'." 

Bilbo snorted. "Well, there may be one in the making despite Old Rory. They're for a cousin of mine, Ferdibrand. We've been corresponding ever since he stayed with me two summers ago. Young as Frodo is, he shows a knack for learning, and when I saw the shameful state of the Brandy Hall library last Yule--!" 

"Frodo, eh? Would that be young Frodo Baggins, then?" 

Bilbo looked up, startled. "Yes. Do you know him?" 

The ferrymaster leaned heavily on his pole. "Know him? Aye. Knowed 'is parents too, I did, and right well at that. Fine folk they was, more's the pity. The lad, now--" To Bilbo's surprise, the old hobbit chortled. "Never knew such a one for mushrooms! Many's the time I took 'im over this very river. 'To visit friends, Mr. Ferdibrand,' says he, but it were ol' Maggot's mushrooms he were after." 

Bilbo chuckled too. "Yes, I could tempt him with mushroom soup when nothing else worked. Do you mean to say, he crossed over with you by _himself_?" 

"Aye, that he did. Daresay he was too young, but, ah, the boy had a way with 'im. And he was always generous with the mushrooms when he come back. Ain't seen 'im fer some time now, though." 

Something in Ferdibrand's voice caught Bilbo's attention and he was just about to ask the ferrymaster about it, when joyous cries from the riverbank distracted him. 

"Seems yer have a considerable reception awaitin' yer, Mr. Baggins," drawled the ferrymaster, jerking his chin toward the crowd of children shrieking and jumping up and down excitedly on the opposite shore. "They've been watching fair-bound folk arrive all morning, but none o' my other passengers had such a greeting!" 

Bilbo stood and waved. Everyone waved back wildly and cheered. One small figure broke from the pack and pelted up the path to Brandy Hall, shouting: "It's Bilbo! Mr. Bilbo! He's come! He's come!" 

"The more hands the merrier, I say!" said Bilbo cheerfully, patting his pockets to check for loose change. The ferrymaster snorted. 

"'Twill be a wonder if one o' them's not in the water afore all yer bundles get unloaded." 

"At least Bucklanders won't sink like stones! And young Frodo can swim like a fish! _Not_ a Baggins trait," he chuckled. He clambered atop a crate to peer at the other shore, and so missed the odd look Ferdibrand gave him. "I don't see him. I wonder if he didn't...but I see Marroc...acting like he owns the dock, I must say...Good, there's Tolfred and Fotho, fine sturdy lads, and...ah, I see Saradoc coming down from Brandy Hall with a cart now." 

In a few moments, they reached the landing on the opposite shore. "Move back, all o' yer!" the ferrymaster barked at the eager children. "Or there'll be sorry faces at yer suppers tonight!" 

Reluctantly, they backed up. Ferdibrand made one strong thrust in the shallows and poled the ferry up to butt against the posts of the landing stage. With practiced tosses, he looped the ropes around the anchoring bollards, and steadied the ferry while Bilbo jumped off. Bilbo was immediately surrounded. The youngest hobbits clamored to know what he'd brought. The older ones stood back and pretended indifference, but Bilbo could see their eyes stealing to his many tempting bags, boxes and bundles. 

"Now, now, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise!" he said good-humoredly to the younger ones jumping excitedly around him. "Ferdibrand, my good fellow, will you help these young folk? Keep them well away from the you-know-what, if you please! No, no, not yet!" he stopped two over-eager lads from walking away with a long thin crate between them. "Wait until Master Saradoc brings the cart! No reason to carry things farther than you must." 

"No need ter wait, Mister Baggins, he's comin' now." The ferrymaster took his pipe out of his mouth and pointed with its stem toward the path that wound up the eastern bank of the Brandywine. Two or three hobbits, a pony and a cart had made their way down from the great smial of Brandy Hall, whose windows overlooked the river. 

"Bilbo! Bilbo Baggins!" The foremost figure waved, and trotted ahead through the crowd of children to greet Bilbo with an embrace and a hearty handshake. "It's been too long! Glad you could make it, cousin! Ah, I thought you wouldn't lack helpers here!" he said, smiling at all the young children now scrambling over the ferry and its cargo under the ferrymaster's watchful eye. Ferdibrand caught one lad by the scruff of his neck before an over-eager friend knocked him into the Brandywine. 

"Just as well I didn't rouse more of my lazy friends! But, is all of this for us?" He looked a bit taken aback at the pile on the ferry. 

"No, Saradoc, not all. But they do all go to the Hall." Bilbo broke off at the sight of the oncoming hobbits. 

"Oi, you there, stop! _Stop!_" He ran toward them, waving his arms. The three stopped the cart and looked bewildered. 

Bilbo snatched a pipe from a very plump hobbit, emptied it on the ground, and stamped on the smoldering ashes. At the hobbit's faint cry of outrage, he said, "Foolish hobbit! Didn't Saradoc explain what I was bringing? What about you others? Any pipes lit?" He glared at them. They shuffled, stuck their hands in their pockets and shook their heads. "Good. Mind that you don't until these boxes are safe, or you won't be. Well, come along then." 

With so many hands, the offloading of the ferry and the loading of the cart took little time. Bilbo fussed a bit when one particular box was handled too roughly for his wishes, but other than that, the transfer went smoothly. Bilbo distributed coppers all round, but refused to say anything about what was in his cargo. Finally the children gave up and ran to help other passengers with their loads. He was just about to follow the loaded cart up the path to Brandy Hall, when Ferdibrand caught his arm and stopped him. 

Bilbo paused, and looked back. The old ferrymaster's gaze was oddly intent. 

"You'll be seein' young Frodo, won't yer, Mr. Baggins?" 

"Of course I will; I said I was," he answered, surprised. "He's my cousin, after all." 

The old hobbit searched his face and frowned. 

"Well, it's not my place to tell yer," he grunted. "You just tell young Frodo old Ferdibrand was askin' after 'im, Mr. Baggins," he said. "You tell 'im I hopes to see 'im again sometime." 

Bilbo cocked his head at him, eyebrows raised, then he caught on. He clapped Ferdibrand on the arm and winked. "He's been banned from the ferry, eh? Not to worry, old friend. I daresay you'll get your share of Farmer Maggot's purloined mushrooms soon enough." 

The old hobbit didn't return his smile. He flashed him a queer look, then took his hand off Bilbo's arm and started fishing around in the pockets of his vest for pipe fixings. "You just tell 'im what I said," he said stubbornly, pulling out a pouch and matches. Then he turned his back on Bilbo and went to greet the other passengers waiting for the ferry. 

~TBC~ 


	2. Hiding Habits

Many thanks for your wonderful comments! I thought I'd finished this chapter, but you sparked some ideas I had to put in. For those of you worried about Frodo…blame past English classes and rest assured you'll know all eventually. *wicked grin*

Disclaimer: The Tolkien Estate owns the Shire and everything in it (sigh.) I've just dropped by for the Fair.

Brandy Hall, Buckland, June 30-July 1, 1382 SR

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**Chapter 2:  Hiding Habits**

_In which Bilbo is surprised and discovers a search underway._

"When I find you, Baggins, you'd better not have your nose in a book!" 

Bilbo stopped in mid-sentence, and looked up, startled. In the back of the cart, two of the boys from the ferry landing, Tolfred and Marroc, stopped pushing a crate and snickered. They had followed Bilbo and the others up to the Brandy Hall stableyard to help unload. Extra spending money was always useful at the Fair.

"Not you, Bilbo," said Saradoc, amused. "Young Frodo. I'm afraid he's in a little trouble today." He rapped on the cart floor. The two boys jumped and slid the box forward. Saradoc handed it to the very plump hobbit and waved him on his way.

"Have you tried the hay barn, Permilea?" he called to the tweenager standing hands on hips and glaring around the stableyard. He nodded toward the large building next to the pony paddock. The girl, a sturdy hobbit with long brown curls and a pug nose, assumed a no-nonsense expression and marched over to it. Her friend trailed along unenthusiastically behind her.

"Frodo? Frodo! You know what Master Rorimac said would happen if he caught you reading!" She yanked the door open and stuck her head inside. "Frodo? Are you in there?" A pair of irritated chickens flew out, squawking, and she jumped. Annoyed, Permilea slammed the door shut with a huff and shrugged her shoulders at her friend.

"He's not in there either. He's hiding really good this time," she said, reluctant admiration in her tone.

Hiding? What was this? Bilbo pricked up his ears.

 "We've checked _everywhere_ and I'm _bored_," the other tweenager whined. "The library, the hayloft, the smithy, _and_ the woodshed—all his usual hiding places. Let's stop." 

"No, we haven't. There's the fairgrounds, and the orchards, and the pier, and the boathouses, and—"

Marroc elbowed Tolfred and muttered something to him behind his hand. Tolfred snorted a laugh, then the two boys caught Saradoc's eye and bent with great industry to lift a large box.

"Don't be daft. You know he's not there. And I'm not going halfway to Crickhollow to search the orchards." The other girl slouched against the paddock fence and pouted. "Milly, I'm _tired_ of looking, and I'm _hungry_. He's not coming out, and I wouldn't either after what Old Rory said." 

Permilea crossed her arms and glared at her friend. "Cousin Esme needs him, Pansy!"

"Oh, all _right_," Pansy said, rolling her eyes and sighing gustily at the unfairness of life in general, "let's go check the fairgrounds, if we _must._ At least something interesting is happening there."

Bilbo looked after the departing tweenagers, his brow furrowed. Then he saw the large red G on the lid of the box the two boys were lifting down. 

"Careful, lads! Give that to me!" He handed the box to the last of Saradoc's helpers, who accepted it with a nod and a grunt. "To the lockroom, if you please, my good fellow. And don't trip!" 

Bilbo dusted off his hands, then caught Saradoc's eye. "What was that about?" he gestured after the departing girls.

The cart was nearly empty. The boys jumped down and Saradoc tugged one of the last two crates forward. "A little mishap with the tie-downs on the food pavilion. Frodo is staying out of my father's way until he cools down. Smart lad."

Bilbo nodded, satisfied. "That's why he didn't meet me at the ferry. I wondered. Does the boy often need to avoid Rory?"

Marroc snickered again, then let his breath out in a pained whoosh when Saradoc banged the crate into his chest harder than strictly necessary.

"Every other week or so." Bilbo stiffened, and Saradoc motioned him to calm down. "No, no, Bilbo. You know Rory—flares up like tinder and lasts no longer. Frodo's prank today was just…bad timing."

Saradoc lifted the last crate into Tolfred's arms and nodded to the stablehand.  Bilbo swung his pack over his shoulder as the cart drew away. 

"Come, Bilbo!" Saradoc gripped Bilbo's shoulder and steered him toward the Hall.  "Come greet Esme and my new young son.  He's a fine one. Every inch a Brandybuck!"

Still frowning, Bilbo followed Saradoc and the two tweenagers up the grassy path to the smial.

~TBC~


End file.
